Grasshopper Peak 30K course: Rain, Brownies, and Trail Treasures

As I open the car door, a large raindrop falls on my bare hand. As if by reflex, my arm recoils into the car and the feeling of dread builds inside of me. I'm not looking forward to running this in the rain. Even though our part of California is no longer experiencing a drought, I'd so far managed to time my long runs perfectly with a dry day. Until this one.

This is where my race start/finish is.

The plan was to complete my trail race's thirty kilometer course and summit the route's namesake mountain, Grasshopper. My sour mood intensified as our run began with a nice steep uphill.  This is how the race starts out? Wow, I'm sort of a meanie, aren't I? I think to myself. Every time I run the course myself I'm surprised by how brutal it is. Haha, sorry guys. (okay, not really)

Pro tip: Brownies make it better.

The moderate rain continues to fall as we climb higher along the fire road through the fog. Not more than just a few miles into my day and I'm already drenched. Thank the heavens for Body Glide. Back at home, I applied copious amounts to any and all surfaces that could possibly rub.

One of the rare flat-ish spots.

Although we don't experience seasons in the traditional sense, winter offers a stark contrast to summertime. The road is lined with fresh mushrooms and green grass. The fog intensifies these hues and the color saturation is so great that it almost appears fake.

Since we're covering the race course, Matt's and my discussion turns to the upcoming race year. The park and I have agreed on a date and registration is open, but I've done little preparation other than that. In keeping with the grassroots feel of our race (and club as a whole, really), we have a few very exciting ideas brewing to enhance the runner's experience. This year, we're planning on making our own finisher awards. That's one thing I'm really excited about and it may in large part be due to the fact that I get to buy and play with a blowtorch.

Through an open pocket of cloud, we catch glimpse of sunshine on the nearby hillside. "Quick! Take a picture, the view might not last." Matt shouts. I have time to snap one photo and true to his prediction, the clouds reattach themselves to our hillside.

My race course is tough. It's almost ten miles of unrelenting uphill. The worst part is that the steepest bit is the last five kilometers to the top. Today it takes me an hour to climb and even my walking pace is sufficient at shredding my downhill facing leg muscles.

We find the best free gear on trail runs. Leatherman knife, probably worth $50.

All the usual vista points are marred by the fact that we're actually inside the cloud. Now on the exposed, fire scarred mountainside, there's no temptation to linger for panoramic views. The immediate landscape, however, is unnaturally gorgeous. Just as Redwoods look more dynamic in the rain, so do burn areas. Maybe it's the irony of the rain coming too late to save the trees or the promise of the trees regrowing, but I always find these areas breathtaking and beautiful in the fog and rain.

We reach the turnoff to the lookout tower. We know there will be no real views at the summit, but figure we might as well end our off season with a winter Grasshopper Peak selfie. Now my collection is complete, I have one from every season, including five climbs just this year.  Without the protection of trees or nearby hilltops, it is brutally cold, slicing through my soggy outfit with every powerful gust of wind.

Warm blood rushes through my body as we make our descent. The trail is steep with miles of loose rock. We alternate running and walking. This keeps my mind from getting too fuzzy, reducing the risk of a fall.

Just a few miles later, we begin my favorite part of the course. It's a gentle series of switchbacks that weave through small trees and, over the course of the five mile descent,  and drop us into a grove of the tallest trees in the world. Of the top ten, most of them reside within this spectacular grove. Last week's run through Prairie Creek held some gnarly giants, but Humboldt Redwoods is still more impressive overall.

With the soft light diffusing through the clouds, nearly every tree is visible. There are no shadows to hide those off in the distance, giving the appearance that hundreds of new giants sprung up overnight. Matt and I power hike on last climb as I chomp on some leftover Halloween M&Ms. I love to walk this hill in particular because it starts at the forest floor and climbs to roughly half the height of the nearby trees. Nothing quite puts these tall Redwoods in perspective like a climbing a hill that is still well below their canopy.

Matt takes off ahead on a gentle downhill to the car. I produce my own bit of acceleration as each foot lands in unstable mud. I half squish and half slide my way down the trail until I end up at the bottom. One last swift dash through a maze of handsome trees and I'm reunited with my thermos of peppermint tea.

19.5 mi.
4:25:17
13:36/mi.
4,911 ft. gain